[ if looks could kill. alhaitham considers the line of kaveh's back as he walks away. azar would enjoy him, he thinks. he has always enjoyed the veneer of rebelliousness. the thought leaves him cold. leave it, kaveh says, and so alhaitham makes the arrangements. slaves return to take the food; he bids for them to set it aside beneath iron cloches. the room smells like tahchin; the scent lingers. alhaitham considers the hour of the night, and, because he still has work to do, returns to his desk to write.
in a few hours, the servant with the swaying skirt enters to the sound of a silver bell. alhaitham does not bother looking up; a gesture of his hand sends her towards kaveh. she approaches with deference, holding out the bud of a small, pink flower. from elham, she says, as a token of thank you. there were flowers in the hall of numbers. this is the only one she could take. ]
no subject
in a few hours, the servant with the swaying skirt enters to the sound of a silver bell. alhaitham does not bother looking up; a gesture of his hand sends her towards kaveh. she approaches with deference, holding out the bud of a small, pink flower. from elham, she says, as a token of thank you. there were flowers in the hall of numbers. this is the only one she could take. ]